


Wishing You Were Somehow Here (and Wishing You Maybe Wanted Me Too)

by wmblake



Category: Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Lovesickness, M/M, POV Peter Parker, Pining, Pre-Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-23
Updated: 2019-10-23
Packaged: 2020-12-30 21:25:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,040
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21146867
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wmblake/pseuds/wmblake
Summary: Peter feels stupid and lovesick and lonely. But there's not much he can do about it right now.





	Wishing You Were Somehow Here (and Wishing You Maybe Wanted Me Too)

Peter stared at his phone’s keyboard. The letters stared back, accusingly, and the cursor blinked insults at him in Morse code. He rubbed his eyes. Alternating blue and gray text bubbles watched him, some without a minute between their time stamps, and others with hours stretching between.

_wish i was in new york with you,_ Harley’s last message, sent two hours ago, read. _anythin is better than bumfuck nowhere tennessee you know?_

Peter smiled. _I wish you were here too,_ he imagined typing. _I wish I could see you smile. Hear you laugh. Make something incredible or incredibly stupid in the lab and help you wipe the motor oil off your face._ He sighed. Closed his eyes.

_I wish I could see you,_ he pretended, crafting the scenario in his mind. _I miss you._

A notification for FaceTime opened on his screen. Peter grinned and hit accept. A moment of a blank screen passed, and then Harley’s face filled the space. His phone held so close to him, Peter could make out his freckles, the shadows his eyelashes cast on his cheeks, the cracks in his chapped lips—

“Hey, darlin’,” Harley drawled. “I know it’s nothin’ like face-to-face, but I missed seein’ you too.”

“You should come visit.”

“The old man’ll let me move in once I’m eighteen.”

“I don’t want to wait two more years to see you.”

“I’ve got to finish high school. An’ you know my mom. She’d freak if I disappeared. She can’t stop me from gettin’ somewhere up north for college, though.”

“Come to my high school. Say there’s nowhere like it and has some of the best opportunities in technical fields available for high schoolers. She wants you to be able to get into MIT, right?”

Harley smiled. “I’ll throw the idea by her. Just don’t get your hopes up.”

“I just want you here.”

“I miss you too.” Harley closed his eyes and hummed.

Peter watched the fantasy until Harley fell asleep, breathing deep and even. He opened his eyes. Sighed. Stared at the glowing phone screen.

“I want you,” he whispered. His chest ached, like something had rubbed the inside raw. His heart pressed against his sternum; his ribs constricted his lungs, the air too heavy to breathe through. Peter swallowed. “Fuck, I want you so bad—just here, just—but—you don’t think of me like that, and, even if you did, you’re still a thousand miles away, and I—”

He scoffed at himself. “Stupid. Not like he can hear you.”

Peter stared at the phone screen again. _I could show you all the best food trucks,_ he typed. _I promise I’ll only get you sick if it’s worth it lol._ He hit send and set his phone to the side. Rolled over to face the wall. Screwed his eyes shut, like that would change everything.

_I want you here and not there only partially because I want to take you on almost-dates and see your smile and pretend that ‘darling’ is something you call only me instead of an ingrained habit,_ he drafted the words in his head, as though he’d ever send them. _I’m okay being friends, I’m just not okay with how you have to view home as a prison sentence, marking the days until you’re released. I want you here because I’m selfish, but I want you out of that house because I—_

Peter sighed.

“’Cause that’ll go over well,” he grumbled. _Hey, Harley, I know we’ve only met in person a couple of times while you visited Mr. Stark and Ms. Potts, and we only really talk over text, but I think I’m falling in love with you, or at least I really like you and could very easily fall in love with you—funny, right?_ He rolled his eyes and buried his face in his pillow. “Just shut up. He’s your friend, and—no point in ruining that.”

Even if his heart thudded whenever he saw Harley. Even if he stopped breathing when Harley laughed, when he made Harley laugh. Even if—

“Shut _up,”_ he repeated. Peter bunched up his pillow, face pressed into it, and screwed his eyes shut. “Let me sleep.”

He kept tossing around in bed. This way and that, getting tangled in his sheets—he groaned, frustrated and exhausted and _alone._ He dragged a hand through his hair. Gritted his teeth together. Took a deep breath.

_“You can rest now, darlin’,”_ he imagined in Harley’s soft drawl. Imagined him running his fingers through Peter’s hair, gentle. _“I’ve gotcha. Sleep now, okay?”_ Peter sighed.

“I wish you were really here,” he whispered. He bunched together a blanket behind him, leaned into it like he could pretend Harley was lying next to him. “I wish I could actually—talk to you, tell you—everything.”

Peter curled up in the dark, feeling small, just him in his room looking like it had no edges, stretching off into the unlit distance—just him, with some blankets and a pillow, adrift. No one around for him to reach for, to hold onto—

He looked at his phone. _I really like you, and I don’t want to make this weird or anything, but—if you wanted to maybe go out or something—_ He couldn’t even finish thinking of what he might say, already cringing at the words. _I miss you and I really wish you were here._

Peter yawned.

_I just want someone to hold me, but not just any someone. I want to be held and kissed and loved, but—you’re a thousand miles away and probably not even into me, but I don’t know what else to do with all this—feeling—other than imagine scenarios where I might tell you and you might—like me back._ He frowned. _Which feels incredibly stupid._

Peter turned onto his other side. Which, of course, made him look at the blanket he’d tried to facsimile a partner out of, like he could fool himself into believing someone was lying with him, sleeping or cuddling or just pressed against his side with an arm around his waist—

He sighed. Closed his eyes again. _I just … want someone,_ he thought. _And I really just want that someone to be Harley._


End file.
